


Be A Playboy Club Bunny!!!!!!!!

by mamestuck



Category: Homestuck
Genre: 1960s Playboy, Crossdressing, F/M, Forced Crossdressing, Humanstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 18:36:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2120466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamestuck/pseuds/mamestuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Las Vegas, 1962: Vriska takes a job as a Playboy Club Bunny, and encounters a submissive patron with cash to spare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be A Playboy Club Bunny!!!!!!!!

Your name is VRISKA (MOTHERFUCKING) SERKET and you have no idea how you got this job. 

You filled out the application as a joke, but apparently the "Bunny Mother" (!?!?!?!?) liked your "spunk". Whatever that means.

You're working at some incredibly dull club on the strip. You guess it's meant to be fancy and exclusive but really it's just soooooooo booooooooring. You spend all day every day serving drinks to losers! At least it beats the alternative. Being a secretary would be way more boring and you know it. You were never actually a pirate, despite your incredibly detailed falsification of your credentials on your Bunny job application.

Tonight though, one of the patrons catches your eye. Or maybe you catch his. Well, that goes without saying; you catch everyone's eye!!!!!!!! You have "spunk."

You saunter up to his table with a tray of cocktails balanced on one hand. 

"What can I do you for, sailor?" you ask, batting your eyelashes. The "Bunny Mother" said that blue mascara was "garish," but what does she know?! It is working. It is working like a charm.

He looks up at you from behind thick glasses (nerd!!!!!!!!) and says, without missing a beat, "Half a grand."

Well!!!!!!!! That is twice what you make in a week. Fuck the rules, you are going for it! You set your tray down on the table and grab his arm, and both of you head for the exit. Even though you're wearing, like, 8-inch heels, he is the one stumbling after you. Loser.

Once you're outside, he hails a limo, and in a few minutes you're in his suite at the Dunes. 

"Half up front," you say, not bothering with sweet-talk. This doesn't even faze him. He opens his wallet and counts out five crisp fifties and sets them on the dresser. You grin.

"Now, strip." 

He raises an eyebrow but complies, carefully draping his suit-jacket and slacks over the back of an armchair. He looks at you from behind those dumb glasses, wearing nothing but his boxers and socks, and you give him a grade-A glare. The rest of his clothes are off, post-haste!

Once that's over with, you take your time removing your Bunny outfit, laying it out on the bed. The satin ears and corset, dyed-to-match heels, collar and cuffs, fluffy cottontail. You make a show of peeling off your dark hose. His tongue darts over his lower lip in a nervous, furtive manner, but he stays where he stands. Even though you're standing there buck naked, his eyes stray over the cerulean satin of your outfit on the bed. You get an idea!!!!!!!! You are a genius.

"Come here," you say, and he closes the distance between you. "Sit." He sits.

You kneel in front of him and begin to roll the hose up over his hairy legs. "I never..." he stammers but you cut him off with a cocked eyebrow. He bites his lower lip and hitches his hips up so you can get the hose over his waist. The contours of his calves and thighs look like cut glass under the sheer black stockings. 

"Stand," you say, and you fit the satin corset around him. You have to put some elbow grease into cinching it, but it goes on. He grunts, but stands still, your personal mannequin. You are mildly surprised that it fits at all; but for all his well-toned, lean muscle, he has a slight build. He blushes darkly. You kiss him on the cheek, and affix the bushy cottontail to his rump. You affix the collar around his neck, and a cuff around each slender wrist. The disembodied suit pieces have never looked so stupid.

You pace around him to admire your handiwork. The tailored bust of the corset looks ridiculous against his flat chest. The whole thing looks ridiculous. He's trembling slightly. 

You stand in front of him, look him in the eye. He averts his gaze. You grab the bunny ears off the bed and slip the headband over his carefully coiffed hair. 

He finally meets your stare and blushes even further, the flush spreading across his neck and chest. His breathing is only slightly labored under the constriction of the corset. He whimpers softly. "Please," he says, barely audible.

"Stay put, be a good Bunny," you say. You pick up his boxers and undershirt from the floor, put them on. You put on his trousers, cinching the belt tight so they don't fall right off your hips. Dress shirt, jacket. Silk tie, what the hell. You admire your reflection in the mirror, sweep your hair back, and wink to yourself. You grab your heels, and swipe the $250 from the dresser almost as an afterthought.

"It's been great," you say, and blow him a kiss. You're already out the door and bolting towards the elevator before he gets wise to what's happening. You hear him yell "Hey!" from down the hall, but you know he won't chase you in that outfit. By the time he changes into another suit, you'll be long gone.

You hail a cab. "Airport, please!" 

In the backseat, you rifle through his wallet, finding nearly two grand in cash. Shit, maybe you'll fly to Saint John! You always did think the Carribean would be the coolest place for a pirate.


End file.
